One Hell of a Perfect
by gottaluvlizzie
Summary: Clare has always lived her life with help from the guy who's been there for her since she was four-Jake. Now, he has left and Clare can't cope on her own for long. Can the mysterious Eli help her figure herself out? Or will he only be a reminder of Jake?


**Hey guys! My name's Lizzie, and I'm the wonderful writer of this story you should consider reading ;D. I love Eclare with all my heart and have been a fan of theirs since day one. So, writing and reading fan fiction is pretty much the only way to keep myself busy until the new season comes around. Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you guys and don't hesitate to leave some constructive criticism here and there, I accept it and am not afraid to receive it, thanks! (P.S. The number of reviews I get on this Prologue determines whether or not I will continue it!)**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Degrassi in any way, shape, form, color, ... you get the point.**

**~hearts from Lizzie~**

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><p><em><strong>Prologue<strong>_

"Hi, um, my name's—"

Clare. My name is Clare. At that time, that's all I knew. However, what I didn't know was that there was more to my name than that. I wasn't just a "Clare," I was a Clare Diane. Clare Diane—

"Hey, I'm Jake Edwards."

And then there was Jake; the one person who knew me for me. He knew there was more to me than just being an ordinary "Clare." But out of all the things he taught me, that wasn't one of them he managed to tell me; I found out later.

When my parents died, I was four. They apparently died instantly in a car accident, or at least that's what society managed to tell me. That wasn't the only answer I got from people, but it's the most logistic one. But, even though I was only four, wouldn't I have remembered the incident myself? I had to be involved—and I was—but not so closely involved that I died too, obviously.

Since that truly unknown tragedy, I lived peacefully at a random orphan home called "The Village" (pretty fitting when you came to know the place) in the middle of town in Ohio. Being the city girl I was the first four normal years of my life, I found the placement of my new living odd, but soon comforting. There were no more late night partiers next door giving me reckless slumbers, and no more twelve-o-clock traffic jams from the rush to the bar across the street, which my father used to own at the time. It was pretty much a damned paradise for me.

The "Jake Edwards" I mentioned earlier was the boy who took time the make my life somewhat normal again. When my parents had died, no money was inherited by me. Not knowing why, I grew up attached at the hip to Jake, who could afford school, unlike me, and he taught me the needed things he learned in class that I didn't already know (that was one of the flaws of having a mom as a college professor, I was smarter than the average four-year-old).

I was known for my learning skills at The Village, because when word got around that Jake of all people was teaching me (insert the 'awe's' here), they considered me smart for understanding his stutters. It was learning for him too; in exchange for his primary instruction, his constant speaking (thanks to my many questions) helped cease his stutter problem.

However, Jake was never my only friend at The Village. I had Alliah, or Alli, as she preferred, and Imogen.

Alli was a Hispanic girl who was atrocious for her constant complaining and arguing, but by me for her redundant scheming of escape plans. She always spoke her feelings with me. She told me that one day, she was going to sneak out and live on her own. Did I mention we were both six at the time?

Anyway, eventually her dreams came true, at the age of nine; she was adopted by another Hispanic family, the Bhandari's. I was saddened when she left, but her grin that lit up her face never left when she realized she was finally free.

One the other hand, Imogen never wanted to leave, period. She talked out her fear with me whenever a young couple came in to see if they could find a cute little girl like her to take home. I met her when I was nine, after Alli left. She pretty much replaced Alli by chatting a storm with me every chance she could. However, she was soon adopted at age thirteen, and by that time, she had grown out of her fear. So, I was left once again, but I was never alone because of Jake.

We were best friends, Jake and I. He never once mentioned dating me, but he did tell me when he was fifteen about his one date with a girl that led to a crisis. I had always kept that story in mind in case I was asked on one of those "dates."

Jake and I never really argued, either. He could tell every time I was concerned, upset, or angry about something. He could almost read my mind. Then, he'd always ask, "Why are you worried?" or, "Tell me why you feel so pissed." (I never did like the way he worded the last one. Pissed. That always seemed like a word that wasn't supposed to be used in that manner.)

But, of all the things Jake taught me, he never did teach me the strongest feeling one could feel, besides hatred. He only had briefly explained it the one time I brought it up; and did I mention that was the same day my life went downhill?

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><p>"Jake?" I asked in a soft, muffled whisper.<p>

"Hmm?"

"What is love?"

He froze. We were in his room putting his things in boxes. Did I know why? Nope. Did I want to know? Not really, but I was the curious type.

Sighing, he answered, "Love is a feeling where you have a special sort of connection with someone."

Leave it to Jake to give me _just_ the connotation of everything. "You mean, like—gravity?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "I guess."

I looked down. In my hands were a couple of Jake's belongings: an I.D., a sharpie, and in my other hand, a set of multi-colored aluminum can tabs gathered together by a thin string. I didn't see why it was important to put it in a box with simple needs like tissues, batteries, and a toothbrush, but gee, what did I know compared to him?

Jake reached over to grab his can of Mountain Dew Amp. He flipped his head backward to retrieve the final swallows. He then removed the emerald tab and put it on the desk space beside him. Crushing the can, he gave me a questionable look, _that_ look.

I frowned as I handed him the necklace. While he took it from my palm, he stared intently at me. I wanted to look away, but this time, I tried to make my confusion unreadable. My fingers began to occasionally snap the lid of the sharpie as his eyes captured my feelings. Here we go again, Clare.

"What are you concerned about?" he asked with a cocked brow. His words make me jump back into reality and I stopped snapping the sharpie. I blinked and looked at the necklace, which now one more shade of green had added to it.

"Do you love me?" I asked, looking downward now. I was sort of embarrassed of the question that fell from my lips, considering that I still didn't understand what love was.

He abruptly snapped his head up, but his look softened. Then, he _smirked_.

Things came to me fast; I was now wearing the multi-colored necklace, and my lips were—_touching his_?

My eyes immediately opened only to see the closed lids of the man I think loves me. I've heard of the before: it's called kissing. I like it—wait, no—I _love_ it!

I slowly closed my eyes, but when I did, I realized I needed to breathe. I leaned back shyly, and he, obviously, took the hint.

"Sorry," Jake said sincerely. As soon as I caught my breath, I tried using the new term towards Jake.

"I loved that!"

"Me too,"

"Does this mean you love me?"

"No."

No? I didn't understand. I turned away from him so he wouldn't notice my now reddened face. He said it so quickly, has he already thought about this? I—

"Stop over thinking it, Clare." He spoke softly. I turned around and he immediately noticed my embarrassment.

"Clare, I like you, a lot actually, but I can't be with you, I mean, I can't exactly _love_ you,"

My face scrunched up with confusion. Again, he noticed this and continued,

"Clare, I can't love you, because it could get us in trouble."

What?

"And because I'm leaving."

Silence.

"You said love was a connection though, so why can't it be a strong one? I mean, so it won't break while you're gone? What's the trouble in that?"I yelled at him. His face still read the same guilt as before though.

"No Clare, you don't understand, I'm your—"

"Oh! Something else I don't understand! You've explained everything to me! Why can't you—"

"I'm not coming back!" he cut me off. "Clare, I'm leaving this place, I'm ending this life, and you'll move on! In fact, someone else will find you and love you, and you'll forget about me!"

He's told me the truth all this time, but why did it seem like he was lying now?

My tears fell.

First, I lost my parents, now Jake? He made my life! I can't possibly live without him! I think this is a connection, I think I love him!

"I love you," I whimpered.

"No, you don't." Jake snapped.

"Yes, I do!"

"What if I called you a bitch?"

"I'd still love you!"

"And if I abused you?"

"Yes, I would."

"Or if I left right now without a goodbye?"

"Damn it Jake, yes!"

Jake sighed in defeat. He picked up his boxes and began to take them outside The Village. I followed him, with the sharpie and I.D. still in my right hand.

"Jake," I started.

"I'm leaving Clare."

"Why now?"

"Because I need to let you live your life and be free and away from me."

"Why can't you just tell me you love me before you leave?"

"I'd be guilty of a crime I don't feel like committing today."

The final boxes were packed tight in the bed of his truck. I couldn't comprehend all of this; what kind of punishment could you get for loving someone?

Jake opened his truck door and climbed in. But when he saw the sadness in my eyes, he got out and jogged towards me one last time. His arms encircled my cold waist and he kissed my cheek. But when he pulled away, I could see an unfamiliar glint in his eyes. It looked like fear, or maybe disappointment?

Vroom! He started the engine, causing me to jump. I smiled as he pulled away into the distance, and I looked sadly towards the ground. As I did, I noticed the objects still lying in my hands.

"Oh crap," I frowned, remembering I still had the sharpie and his I.D. But wouldn't he have noticed I had them? I looked at the I.D., seeing the name JAKE EDWARDS. Seeing the familiar name, I wondered to myself, did I have a last name like that?

"Clare Diane… Edwards." I spoke. Why did it have such a nice ring to it?


End file.
